Chapter 227: Something Isn’t Right
(TYLER)
I’m leaning over Sasha’s shoulder to check on him, wheezing in his ear like some decrepit—pushing the weight of a wheelchair plus Sasha up a slope is quite a fucking work out—when there’s an explosion up ahead, the blast waves strong enough to flatten even Marco against the wall, and Sasha and I go skidding backward into Burgess.
If I hadn’t been leaning over him, I think I would have tumbled head over ass.
As it is, I just slam into Burgess, and both of us are pinned against the wall for a moment with Sasha’s wheelchair, which has careened sideways. Sasha is slumped to the side.
"Shit," Burgess spits.
I have to agree. We can hear yelling and screaming from up ahead, running feet, gunfire. Someone is trying to force their way into the tunnel, and I don’t think they’re friendly. But my first focus is Sasha. I manage to shove the wheelchair forward and slide out from behind it, coming around to crouch down and look at his face.
He’s gone dead white again, as pale as he ever was while he was in that god awful coma, but his eyes crack open when I shake him.
I can see the agony written clearly on his face, and his eyes can’t focus on mine. I’m worried he hit his head on the wall.
And worse, there’s a red stain on his hospital gown. If his blood has soaked through all those bandages, it means he’s bleeding really badly. They fucking mummified him.
"Sasha," I say urgently, pressing against the wound as hard as I dare.
His head rolls on his shoulders until he’s staring straight up at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath and blows it out.